


Eight

by alley_cat_toulouse



Category: 6 Underground (2019)
Genre: Brain Cancer, Brain Surgery, Cancer, F/F, F/M, I don't know what else to tag, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Recovery, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:49:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21850024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_cat_toulouse/pseuds/alley_cat_toulouse
Summary: "Sounds an awful lot like there's a catch.""There is. You have to die."She didn't have too much time left anyways, and what he was offering was just too good to pass up.
Relationships: Five | Amelia (6 Underground)/Original Character(s), Five | Amelia/Four | Billy (6 Underground), Four | Billy (6 Underground)/Original Character(s), Three | Javier/Two | Camille (6 Underground)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 82





	1. A New Start

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! First time posting on AO3, so I'm still figuring it all out. Tags and ratings may be updated as I sort this out more, but for now, they're established for the first chapter!
> 
> CW: Low-key suicidal ideation (in line with anything from the movie), brain cancer. If you want to largely avoid these, skip to chapter 2.

The softness of the breeze tickled her cheeks, the sun warming her closed eyelids as she leaned out over the edge, one hand braced on either side of her lap. Her feet dangled over the sharp drop, gravity pulling ever so slightly on them, as if coaxing her to let go and embrace the void. The sensation wasn't new to her, but now it spoke much louder in her ear.

"I do hope you're not planning on throwing yourself off of there," a voice from behind her interrupted her meditation, "Or at least like, give me a heads up so I can look away or something."

The man must have hiked the trail to the top of the cliff, the same way she'd come. That wasn't her normal way up here, but well… she looked longingly out over the edge again with a sigh. 

"I mean, I was thinking about it," she admitted, running her fingers through her shaggy, wind-tossed curls. The tips of her fingers grazed against a long, still-fresh scar as she did so. "Got any alternatives?"

"Life and your family and all that, I guess I could say." He crouched beside her, dropping his rear onto the smooth granite and stretching his legs to dangle over the edge, a perfect mirror of her pose.

She snorted, not bothering to glance over.

"But uh, I've got one more. What if you could become a ghost?"

"Just what is it you think I was trying to do up here?" She glanced sideways, studying him. Soft brown eyes, light hair fading into salt and pepper gracefully. Expensive clothing. 

"What if you could become invisible to the world, and make a difference? Make real change?" He pressed, eyes burning into hers.

"Look, buddy, I don't know what you're selling, but I'm kinda having a moment here? A personal one? So if you could just…"

"Brain cancer. That's a real bitch, huh?"

She'd been in the middle of pushing herself up to walk away from him, but she froze, feeling like the wind was knocked out of her.

"Excuse me?"

"Brain cancer. The inoperable kind. Or at least, the unaffordably operable kind."

She bristled, her voice tightening as she spoke, "Look, man, I don't know you, so if you could just fuck off…"

"Yeah, but I know you. World-class climber, right? Felt like you were on top of the world until your dizzy spells started happening. Suddenly, you couldn't climb like you used to. Started getting migraines, couldn't stand up straight… went to a doctor or six and there it was--size of a golf ball, pressing on your cerebellum. Not in a great spot, either. Real hard to get to."

He looked away from the vista before them, eyeing her as she stayed frozen, half crouched, halfway to her feet.

"You went through treatment, the surgeries, all of it, but it just kept coming back. They couldn't get rid of it. There's a treatment, they told you. Experimental. Expensive. Too expensive."

He braced his hands behind himself, leaning back on them casually. Just two friends, having a chat.

"I need someone like you. You need someone like me."

"A nosy prick?"

"A rich asshole."

"Sounds an awful lot like there's a catch."

"There is. You have to die."

* * *

She'd been missing for two weeks by the time the search team found her bloodied, ripped windbreaker. A few feet away, her climbing helmet, shattered and empty. Her gear was strewn around the area. 

Wild animals, they reported. No body found, but too much blood.

She's gone, they said. The search was ended

Half a world away, in a private Swiss hospital, an anesthesiologist fits a mask over her face. The operating room lights are painfully bright, but soon they won't be.

She begins to count backward from ten as instructed.

"Ten… nine… eight…"

She's gone.

* * *

"Eight, you made it." The voice was much softer than when she'd last heard it, hushed to an appropriate volume for a library, though not for a private hospital room, a heart monitor beeping steadily at her bedside.

Slowly, her eyes worked to focus on the source of the voice. She felt like she might be underwater, struggling a bit for the surface and air.

"Suppose… I have you to thank for that," She whispered, her throat painfully dry. 

"Don't thank me yet. All I did was buy you more time so I could tell you what to do with it." He stuck a straw in a plastic cup on the bed tray, splashing water into it from the muted, hospital pink-colored plastic pitcher. He offered it to her as she struggled to get the straw in her mouth, her hands wrapping around his to hold the cup steady.

When she was finished, he set it back on the wheeled table.

"Rest up, Eight. You've got a few months of therapy and follow up tests, then it'll be time to meet the rest of the team and get to work."

With that, he pushed himself up from the chair and headed towards the door. 

"I'll see you when you're recovered."

* * *

The months flew by as she healed. Staying in a private hospital was a strange sort of vacation, but that was about the closest thing she could compare it to--a vacation. One full of physical therapy appointments and paper cups with a few pills rattling around inside and lots and lots of time spent watching television, all quietly paid for by some rich asshole with a plan for her.

Even though she had months to prepare herself, she still felt her stomach tangle in impossible knots as the orderly pushed her wheelchair towards the inconspicuous, but obviously expensive, car idling at the curb.

The driver was on hand to take her small overnight bag, tucking it safely into the trunk before opening the door for her and offering her a hand. 

As her eyes adjusted to the interior of the car, she saw him, a cheerful smile on his face as he patted the back seat beside him.

"Ready to meet the rest of the team, Eight?"

She clicked her seatbelt together, settling into the plush seat. 

"Ready as I'll ever be, I guess."


	2. Just a Number

The flight back would have been painfully long if she hadn’t spent the past three months sitting on her ass, recuperating. She’d already caught a good nap, lulled to sleep by the engines’ drone and the soft rocking of the small jet. Up in the cockpit, One (the only name he’d told her) oversaw the controls as the private plane sailed westward. 

Left alone to her own devices, Eight, as she was now called, had explored the plane, shuffled through the bins and closets and cabinets, and now, lay stretched out in the aisle between the plush seats, hands braced under her shoulders.

“One,” She grunted softly, pressing against the floor and lifting her prone body into a plank position, before slowly lowering herself back down to the start. “Two…”

A soft chime on the intercom interrupted her thoughts, before One’s voice came across the hidden speakers.

“Hey, uh, Eight? Whatcha doing back there?”

Did he have a camera back here? Of course he probably did. Control freak. She didn’t slow her methodical pace to answer him, keeping count in her head.

“I have spent… three months… in a hospital... If you want… me to climb… anything soon… I need to get… back in shape… Twelve… Thirteen…” She answered between pushups. She was curious to see how much she could still do, whether she could recover her body to the power she’d had before she’d gotten sick.

“Alright. Take it easy, though. You were not cheap to fix, and I’d hate to see you overdo it and waste all that money.”

She sat back on her heels, wriggling her legs around until they were in front of her, feet pressed firmly to the floor as she lowered her back towards the speckled carpet.

“Never mind… that you saved… my life,” She grunted, setting a practiced pace once more, “That’s not… worth something… or anything…”

“Hey now, we had a deal--I help you not be dead-dead, you come work for me. You agreed to those terms.”

“So… I did…” She agreed. She hoped, maybe a bit impossibly, that working herself hard would settle the knots her stomach kept twisting itself into.

Climbing was one thing--even the highest, hardest climbs came down to skill, to will power to keep reaching for one last hold, place one more cam, push one more time. This, however, was uncharted territory. She’d never been dead before, and while she wasn’t really--at least not in the same sense she’d been contemplating at the top of that cliff months ago--there was still an unsettling lack of control in her life now. It was new, and it chafed.

At least she could control right here, right now. So push herself, she did.

* * *

One had known there’d be some pushback when he decided it was time to recruit another team member, but he hadn’t counted on attracting just so much vitriol. It was pretty apparent to him that they had need of another person, after the complete and utter shit show that Florence was… and Hong Kong… and Turgistan. There was a gap, and it was one he was looking to fill.

“Look, I don’t care. It’s apparent that we need another person. We very nearly got our asses handed to us at every turn. Four would be dead if we didn’t break the rules…”

“You mean, break _ your _ rules,” Seven muttered under his breath, earning an annoyed look from One. 

“We need an extra set of eyes and hands. One more person, and I think the next mission will go a lot better.”

One settled his hands on his hips, daring the others to argue. He should have known it was a fight he’d lose.

The team’s voices clattered over one another, filling the stripped fuselage of the long-dead plane with angry protest.

“I wouldn’t be nearly dead if you’d planned better!” Four accused, pointing at One’s chest.

“What would they even do? We have everyone we need. We watch each other’s backs, we don’t need anyone else!” Three contributed, overwhelming whatever argument Seven had begun to put forth.

“SHUT UP!”

One glared at his team, waiting for them to simmer down. It took a moment for the last grumbles to die away into silence.

“We’re adding an Eight,” He continued, scanning the face of each teammate in turn.

“Where are you going to find them?” Seven asked.

“I’ve got a few ideas about where to start. If they pan out, you’ll all be the first to know. Back to work. We’ve got lots to do, ladies and gentlemen!”

* * *

One maybe hadn’t been the most straight forward with his team all those months ago. Sure, he hadn’t found Eight yet, and sure, he knew where he wanted to start looking, but he definitely hadn’t told them when he’d found her, like he’d promised. It seemed to him that introducing a new team member, only to have them out of the game for three months, wasn’t a great morale builder.

He had, however, told them before leaving to fetch her, which felt like progress. After all, he’d neglected to even tell them Seven was joining.

Below the plane, the Mojave desert unfurled like a tablecloth, undulating endlessly and broken by sharp, dark mountain ranges. It was a stark kind of beautiful, but that wasn’t why One had chosen it for their home base.

No, the reason he’d picked it was because it was in the middle of fucking nowhere.

As he lined the jet up for the final turn, he hit the intercom.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are now arriving at our destination. The weather on the ground is blazingly sunny and one-hundred and twelve degrees Fahrenheit. Please fasten your seatbelts and ensure that seatbacks and tray tables are in the upright and locked position. On behalf of Ghost Airlines, let me be the first to welcome you to the middle of absolutely nowhere.”

* * *

_ Jesus, he wasn’t kidding about the weather,_ Eight thought, wiping the sweat off her brow. Behind them, the jet’s engines ticked and pinged as they cooled, dust swirling in puffs around their feet as One lead the way towards a dilapidated collection of shacks and airliners.

He ducked inside one, affectionately patting the decal of a ghost beside the door. She followed, a bit more hesitantly. 

“All right, boys and girls, meet your new classmate,” One announced, his voice filling the space of the fuselage. From work stations and screens around the room, the others looked up.

“Everyone, this is Eight. Eight, everyone.”

She wasn’t normally a self-conscious person, but under five pairs of curious eyes, she wished she could wither. Her cheeks flushed as she immediately realized what they saw in her--pale, underpowered. She momentarily wished she’d thought to let her curls out of the ponytail she’d scraped them up into on the plane, distinctly aware that her hospital-issued shave job wasn’t exactly neat. They’d left her with just the crown, and a handful of gnarly scars.

Silence filled the dead plane for a moment before finally, one of them stepped forward.

“Don’t let this asshole tell you we only go by numbers around here.” His voice was rumbling and sweet like honey, “Seven, but you can call me Blaine. I’m overwatch.” He offered her his hand, “Welcome to the team.”

One by one they came, shaking her hand.

“I’m Amelia, number Five. The doctor.”

“Camille, Two. Ex CIA.”

“Javier, _ soy Tres _. I’m the hitman.”

“I uh, Four. Billy. I run.”

“I’m… Eight,” She said, finally finding her voice, “Finley… Fin. I climb.”

“Okay!” One clapped his hands. “We all know each other now, let’s get Eight settled in and then we’ll get her caught up, alright? You, Two, do me a favor and show Eight to her place. Thanks, doll.”

Two rolled her eyes, obviously feeling the task wasn’t her responsibility. Amelia slipped forward, flashing a small smile to the newcomer and taking her hand.

“I’ll show you. Don’t mind them.”

* * *

Once they were back out in the bright light of day, Fin breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thanks for that.”

“It’s no problem. One doesn’t like us to get too attached, so he’s a bit of a hardass. Don’t pay him any mind, or the others,” Five responded, breezily, “Besides, if you don’t mind, I wanted to ask you about those.” She motioned to the fresh scars.

“My…? Oh, right. You’re the--”

“Doctor, yes,” Amelia nodded, “Purely professional curiosity, I promise.”

Fin hesitated. One had warned her against oversharing, but well, Five was probably the only doctor she’d be seeing for the foreseeable future, so surely a little medical history wasn’t that wrong?

“Uh, cancer. Medulloblastoma. It was… well, it was too expensive to try and treat. Had maybe a few months left once I stopped treatment. One offered me a deal I couldn’t afford to turn down if I wanted to live. Now I’m dead.”

“One does that, finding us when we can't turn him down. I don’t suppose you have any of the imaging done? I’m sorry, I’m very curious. Anyways, this is you--us. We’re sharing a trailer. One didn’t give us a lot of time to prepare, sorry. I hope that’s okay.”

It was Fin’s turn to flash a smile, “Yeah, I’ll get it for you later. Figure someone oughta have my medical records.” She looked around the small, dated travel trailer. The bunk over the dinette was neatly made, obviously occupied by the doctor. “We’ll make it work.”

“The table folds down into a bed, or we can make up the couch… You know what? Never mind. We can sort that all out later. We should get you settled and back to One. He’s itching to share the next big plan with you, I’ll bet.”


	3. Making Plans

One was, indeed, dying to share his next big plans. He hardly waited for Five and Eight to make it through the door before starting.

“Okay. So, bad guy number one is down. What did we learn, people?”

“That I should just take the shot,” Seven muttered from his corner.

“Not to volunteer to distract the guards,” Four offered, perched on a table.

“That Three is even dumber on laughing gas.” Two shot a sharp look at Three, who merely chuckled and blew her a kiss.

“Oh, well, in that case, that Four sucks at hand to hand combat,” Seven added, a teasing tone to his voice.

“Hey! Whenever you’ve needed me, I’ve been right there!” The blonde protested, “Right effin’ the--”

“Oh my god, shut up!” One shouted, banging his fist on the hull of the plane like a gavel, “You  _ so _ know that isn’t what I meant.”

One took a deep breath, changing tactics. “Okay, never mind. Anyways, bad guy number one is out of the way, time to take down bad guy number two.”

He strode to the wall where several sheets of paper hung, each bearing a Roman numeral. With a flourish, he ripped  **II** off the wall, revealing a surveillance photograph of a dark-skinned man.

“Luis Estevario, the current dictator of Las Santonas, a teeny, tiny country in Central America, known mostly for its violence, warlords, and of course, its puppet democracy. Oh, and lithium. After Bolivia, this little country is sitting on the world’s largest known lithium deposit.”

Fin watched the others settle in comfortably, perching on table edges and seats around the room. Apparently, they knew they’d be here for a while. She decided to follow suit and sat on the floor, folding her legs in front of her. 

“Now, lithium is a mineral used in tons and tons of technology products, but most importantly, lithium ion batteries,” One continued his lecture, “That sexy new Cybertruck? Powered by lithium-based batteries. Our off-the-grid solar system here? Lithium batteries. Cellphones, laptops, airsoft guns, walkie talkies, flashlights--all this shit is made with lithium.”

“Obviously, Estevario here knows what he has and has been exploiting the  _ fuck _ out of it, with no regard to his people. Thousands have been displaced by the mining operations, the environment is being flushed down the toilet, and never mind anything like sacred sites or archaeological studies--it’s all worthless compared to what companies are offering for mining contracts. This guy is backed by every great mind in tech, except yours truly, because what he offers them is practically unrestricted access to pillage his country with none of the money going back to its people.” One leaned back on the wall behind him, surveying his team. “We are going to change that.”

* * *

Over the next few hours, Eight learned just what it took to topple a dictator. As Two reminded the team, you couldn’t stage a coup without having someone to replace the person you were removing. 

One’s favored replacement was a woman named Elena Pérez, a community organizer, activist, and teacher who had been quite vocal about Las Santonas’ leadership and the plight of its people.

“She’s not a politician, but she’s a start, and the people will have her back,” One acknowledged, “The hard part will be keeping the other billionaire tech people from throwing  _ another _ coup to out her. So, we’re going to make sure that the world sees what’s going on so it’ll be hard for them to do that.”

He paused, staring at the whiteboard outlining the plan they’d spent hours developing. It was far from finished, but it was a start. They were still two months out from the date, but One liked his plans to be bulletproof. Especially after last time.

“Anyways, I’ve got more digging to do. Train hard. We want less fuck ups this time.”

As the team dispersed, Fin followed them with her eyes, wondering just was her part in all of this. She had a skillset that One had clearly looked for, but she didn’t quite see how she’d be all that useful in a fuckin’  _ coup _ .

At least, not useful enough to be worth the hundreds of thousands he’d dropped on her treatment.

“I’ve somethin’ for ya.” A voice overhead interrupted her musings. She looked up to see the figure of Four standing over her, a hand outstretched to help her off the floor. 

Fin ignored his proffered hand and pushed herself to her feet. Standing beside him, she could see they nearly stood at the same height. He had maybe an inch or two to spare.

“Presents? For me? You shouldn’t have,” Fin quipped. Four’s brows drew inward in confusion.

“Wot? No-- Oh. Nah, it’s your gear. One said he didn’t know anything about the stuff on your list, so he sent me to go shopping for it,” He stammered, “Quite a list you sent. Had a bit o’ fun shopping for it all.”

“I uh, thanks for that. Sorry it was so much--I had to ditch all my gear and training stuff, just…”

Four waved a hand, dismissing her apology, “No worries. We all left our things behind, we all need stuff to get the job done. C’mon, lemme show you ‘round. You haven’t gotten the proper tour yet, yeah?” He offered her a friendly smile.

“I’d appreciate it.” She slowly returned the grin.

* * *

There were a handful of little trailers scattered around the airplane graveyard that served as their base, some travel trailers, like the one she shared with Amelia, and some more along the lines of an office at a construction site. Four pointed out each to her and told her who lived there or what it was used for.

“That’s Three’s, but you’ll find Two there pretty often. One’s over there,” he jerked his thumb towards one of the construction offices, guarded by a lazy mutt who was snoring in the shade, “And that’s Wally the dog--Hey, Wally! Here boy!”

Wally lifted his heavy, droopy face to regard the pair with sleepy eyes, before letting out a huff and settling back into the dust.  _ Not today, _ he seemed to say.

Four shrugged at the dog’s reluctance and continued deeper into the sea of planes and trash. “I’m just there, if you ever need anything.” He pointed to a rather dated camper, standing on spindly jacks, not far from the trailer Amelia and she had.

“Though, arguably the most important spot ‘round here is the hangar. Come on, this way.”

Four pushed his shoulder to the sliding hangar door and shoved, inching it open just wide enough for his slim frame to slip through. Fin followed easily, glancing up at the track as she passed under it. The roller that moved the door was unseated, making it difficult to move the door.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. We need to fix it, but it’s a bit hard to just hire a construction crew, bein’ on the down-low ‘n all,” Billy apologized, reaching for the light switch. “You should’ve seen this place when we moved in, though.”

With a loud thunk, the halogen lights overhead buzzed to life, one by one, revealing the interior of the large hanger. As the darkness lifted, Fin was surprised, to say the least. 

Unlike the rest of the base, which was composed of discarded planes and trailers and trash as far as the eye could see (well, right up to the sagging chain link fence that marked the perimeter), the interior of the hangar looked like a cross between a Crossfit gym and something out of a Bond movie.

Sleek training machines dotted the industrial-chic space. In the center, thick mats marked a sparring ring. The back wall, nearly 300 feet wide and 200 feet tall, had been turned into a breathtakingly enormous climbing wall, featuring traditional style climbing routes with their plastic holds and a variety of bars, ladders, cables, and other obstacles more likely to be encountered in an urban environment. It was beautiful.

“Jesus, how much did this cost to build?!” Fin mused under her breath. She was living proof that One threw money around like it was nothing, but this was easily the most impressive training facility she’d laid eyes on.

“Funny thing is, One built all that when there was only me climbing in the crew. Guess he figured he might need to get his money’s worth out of it and get another one of us.” Four chuckled, “So what is it you do? Speed climb? Sport? Lead? Freerun?”

Fin didn’t look at him as she crossed the expansive space, still looking up at the wall in awe. She toed off her sneakers and found a route to try. None of them were marked, but she thought it looked like a good warm up--a chance to see if she could still do it after so many months away.

“You ever play any of those Tomb Raider games?” She asked, wrapping her toes around the first hold and pushing upwards. She was surprised at how easily she flowed from one hold to the next. Apparently it was just like riding a bike. 

“Yeah.”

She was surprised to hear his voice much closer to her than she’d thought. She glanced to her left to find Four hanging from a pipe jutting out of the wall. With a heave, he swung his body up and wriggled onto the pipe until he was crouched there, perfectly balanced.

“That’s what I do.”

“Ah, I’m a bit more of a Mirror’s Edge guy, meself.”

“Sure to come in handy in an undeveloped, mountainous country.” Fin quipped, readying herself to descend. No reason to push her luck and take herself out of the game with an injury, especially when she wasn’t roped.

“I suppose that’s why One brought you in.” Four tone sounded a bit sour.

“What, you like being the only one that can climb?” Finley didn’t look away as she worked her way down the wall.

Beside her, Four opted to drop to the floor, landing with practiced ease. “No. Just don’t see why we needed you. Smaller crews work better. Start adding too many people and there’s more chances to mess up.”

Fin dropped to the ground, dusting off her palms. Man, the skin was tender. She’d need to build her calluses again. “Sounds like One’s problem, not mine. Take it up with him. Until then,” She looked at him and raised an eyebrow, “I’ve got work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo sorry this took a while. Apparently it's harder to come up with a new mission than I'd thought! Whoops.
> 
> Anyways, fun fact--their base was filmed in Dubai, but it's probably intended to be the airplane graveyard in Mojave, CA, not far from where I grew up sooooooo... I'm putting them there. Congrats, guys, you live in one of the worst areas in the state (which is both from experience and statistically validated.).


	4. Dig Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, basically, I couldn't decide if I shipped Fin and Billy, or Billy and Amelia... or Amelia and Fin so, hey, why not all three? Prepare for some tasty slow burn triad action here!

Finley could hear the raised voices before she was even inside. Four’s unmistakable accent carried, doing nothing to disguise his anger.

“I can run it on my own! That’s what I’ve been doin’ this whole time, innit? More people means more mistakes.”

“Yes, you have which is why we _keep having to save your ass_. Seriously, Four, how many times did we have to come back for you? How many times?” One shouted over the blond. Fin wondered if it was the best idea to show her face at the moment, and settled for leaning against the hull of the dead liner to listen.

“You couldn’t have gotten someone who at least could fight or shoot?” Two’s voice was also angry, and closer. She must have been just inside the door. “You know how long it will take us to train her? She will be a liability!”

“So go and train her! Look, we needed someone who could climb to watch Four’s back. We needed someone who can shoot, and we needed someone who needed us. Two out of three isn’t bad!”

Two let out a growl and there was a thump against the wall next to Finley’s head. It sounded like she had punched the wall. It briefly crossed Fin’s mind that she probably should leave, but Camille emerged into the bright sunlight before she could slink away.

“Ah, look who is here,” She remarked, the French lilt in her accent particularly thick. “I hope you’re ready to work your ass off.

She settled a trendy pair of aviator sunglasses on her thin nose, somehow managing the perfect balance of chic and intimidating. Two glanced at Eight through the mirrored lenses.

“Well, come on. Unless you’re hiding some secret skill, we might as well start getting you trained. Maybe then you won’t die, huh?”

Without waiting for a response, the leggy blonde spy headed for the converted hangar, clearly expecting Finley to follow her.

Fin decided that Two’s bad side wasn’t a place she wanted to be, so she did.

* * *

The halogen lights glowed with a slight blue-green tint overhead, and Finley regarded them for a moment as she waited for her vision to stop swimming. The thick sparring mats did a lot to pad the impact, but it still wasn’t enough to take the sting out of hitting the floor… again.

Over the months she’d been with the Ghosts, Finley had watched herself grow in every way--except in her ability to defeat anyone besides Five in hand-to-hand combat. And even then, it was a bit of a toss-up.

“Get up,” Camille ordered, circling the mat. Casually, Four inspected his fingernails, waiting for his opponent to get back in the fight.

Finley swore under her breath, vowing that she was going to make Four regret the smug look on his face. Five stood by nervously, obviously a little concerned about everyone’s wellbeing. Though One had dutifully sent Finley to every followup appointment and test ordered, Five was still a bit unconvinced of the treatment’s success, and worried endlessly about Eight’s ability to train.

As Eight heaved herself to her feet, she braced her hands on her knees, breathing as if she was winded. Really, she was watching Four critically from the corner of her eye, waiting for his guard to drop away completely. When it did, she pounced, slamming her shoulder into his side and entangling her leg in his as she threw him to the mat.

The shocked yelp he let out sounded like victory--even if it was a bit of a cheap one.

“Ah, good. Now you can take down the two weakest members of the team. One, you want to jump in and make it three?” Two remarked breezily.

“Nah, you know I don’t do that,” One remarked as he passed, waving a hand dismissively. 

Fin untangled herself from Four, pushing herself back up into a fighting stance. _ Never drop your guard, _ Two had drilled into them. It was a particular game of hers to knock you over throughout the course of the day, further cementing the lesson and making them all more wary of her. Finley thought that Two liked it that way.

She was glad she’d disengaged from Four quickly, since he came back up spitting mad. He felt foolish, and still hadn’t quite gotten over his initial misgivings. He swatted for her, trying to get her in close enough that his weight and strength would work for him.

Eight danced out of the way, looking for her opening. At this point, she wasn’t sure if Two considered this training still but… so sue her, she had something to prove to Four and Four alone.

They were pretty close in height and reach, so it was hard for either to really get an advantage on each other at arm’s length. Out of the corner of her eye, Finley could see Five chewing her thumb with worry and Two looking incredibly smug.

Fin batted Billy’s had away from her as he reached again, stepping in under his guard to jab at his ribs. She had to be quicker than him--quicker than anyone she’d go up against--and a little smarter. That was probably his downfall.

It’s not that Four wasn’t smart--he was smart enough to run with a group of diamond thieves and keep up with the rest of the Ghosts--but he solved problems with his body first and his brain second, and that was all she needed.

He lunged for her, giving her the opening she wanted. Dainty as could be, she planted the ball of her foot on the top of his bent knee, thrusting her leg straight and giving her the momentum she needed to get her other leg around his shoulders. A bit of wriggling and twisting was all it took to wedge her thigh under his chin. From there, all she had to do was squeeze until he tapped out.

So squeeze she did. Billy pried at her legs with his hands, staggering a bit under the unbalanced weight of her perched on one shoulder. She waited for the patting on her leg that would tell her he had given up, but it never came.

Instead, the floor came rushing up at her as Billy collapsed from underneath her, taking her with. Finley wrapped her arms around her head and rounded her shoulders to take the fall better, but it still knocked the wind out of her as she hit the floor.

Her ears were still ringing as Five jumped onto the mats, separating them and assessing each. Fin had taken worse falls, she knew she was fine and waved Amelia off her. Four’s face was decidedly purple, but fading.

“Shit, is he breathing?” Three asked from the sidelines. Amelia held a hand under his nose, feeling his breath.

“Yeah, he is now. He’ll probably be fine. Too stupid to tap out, _ pinche madre_. Hey, hey Four, wake up.” Amelia patted his cheeks, none too gently.

With a deep gasping breath, Four’s green eyes fluttered open, darting from face to face as he regained consciousness.

“_ Wot…?” _ He breathed, the color returning to his face with the blood flow.

“Eight choked you out, _ papí_,” Three laughed, obviously enjoying the spectacle now that the danger had passed, “She squeezed until you hit the floor.”

“Jesus, _ fuck_,” Four mumbled, sitting up slowly and rubbing his throat. He shot Finley a look that was… contrite? Did she imagine it, or did Four look ever so slightly sorry?

She was about to tell herself she was seeing things when he coughed and said, “I guess I deserved that.”

The expression on everyone else’s face could be read clear as day--_ no shit. _

* * *

“He’s kinda… pretty… isn’t he? Four, I mean.” Amelia’s voice floated out of the darkness from somewhere above Fin’s head. 

They’d shut the lights off about a half-hour ago, but neither had fallen asleep yet in their bunks. Amelia took a long time to fall asleep, Finley knew after her months with the team. They hadn’t really talked about it, but she could hear when the other woman dreamed, and Finley didn’t envy whatever it was she saw, judging by the sounds she made in the night.

“I… yeah. He is kinda pretty. He never shuts up, but he is pretty,” Finley agreed, staring up into the darkness. 

Above her, she knew the view would be composed of peeling laminate and aged particle board, but it was dark enough in the desert that the shadows hid all but the stars, and the odd flashlight of a teammate walking past. If she sat on top of the trailer, Finley knew she could watch the headlights on the distant highway. She and Amelia had taken to spending late nights up there, watching the lights and drinking sweet wine, straight from the bottle as it slowly warmed in the summer air.

It had been a while since Finley had someone she could talk to, someone who didn’t want to ask her about the cancer, but Amelia seemed to be looking for a friend, too.

“He’s kinda trashy… I mean, in that British kinda way. What’s the word? Chav? But he cleans up all right when the mission requires it.”

Finley laughed. It was true--Three looked sophisticated next to Four most days, but she’d done her share of dirtbagging herself when she was climbing, so she couldn’t really pass judgment on how classy anyone was.

“Yeah, he’s a bit of a chav,” She agreed, “But he’s not dumb--not as dumb as everyone thinks he is, at least.”

“Uh-huh.” Finley could hear Amelia shifting above her. “Do you mind if I come down there with you? I--I know it’s silly, but it’s been a while since I’ve had like, girl talk and just… Well, Two isn’t exactly the kind for sleepovers and painting our nails and gossip.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go for it.” Finley scooted over on her dinette-turned-bed, making space for the other woman to crawl in beside her. 

In the darkness, she felt a momentary chill as her covers lifted and Amelia crawled underneath them, before they were cocooned in warmth again. The doctor’s slight weight pressed down on the mattress beside Fin, careful not to touch.

“I had sisters. Six of them,” Amelia announced, her voice soft beside Finley’s shoulder, “I miss them so much--especially doing things like this.”

“I didn’t have sisters, but it was just my mom and me. I slept in her bed more nights than I did mine.”

It was painful to share the lives they left behind, but somehow, knowing they weren’t the only ones made it a little less so. 

“I’m glad you joined the team. I felt… out of place, like I was the only one not meant to do these things we do. The only normal one out of the bunch.The only one who never killed or stole or shot a gun...” Amelia’s voice was growing sleepy, her accent thickening.

“I know how that feels,” She agreed. “I don’t think I have anything to offer the team, compared to what anyone else does.”

“Mm, but I’ve seen you climb. You make it look effortless, like you were made to do that.”

“Yeah, but how is that different than Four?”

“You don’t have to worry about catching your brains in your zipper.” Amelia whispered, and for the first time since she’d arrived, Finley heard her giggle.

Her laughter was contagious, and soon enough, the two twenty-somethings giggled themselves to sleep.


	5. Cozy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes! Yay!
> 
> First off, I hope this give you little fiends feels. You deserve good feels. 
> 
> Second, if there was to be a naughty scene, do you want it in this story with a rating change, or should I publish it in another story, link it for the perverts among you, and then keep going with this story and catch everyone else up in the next chapter in a non-naughty way? Lemme know!

“Well, well, isn’t this cozy?” One’s sing-song filled the trailer, along with the warm, golden morning sunlight streaming in the windows.

Blearily, Eight opened her eyes. Amelia still dozed beside her, now curled on her side under Finley’s arm. Her nose was buried in the puffy blonde curls that were starting to grow back out, her breath warming the skin behind the climber’s ear. As she stirred, she nuzzled one of the scars leftover from her most recent surgery, and a tide of mixed feelings crashed together in Finley’s belly.

Normally, she hated anyone touching, or even looking at, her scars, but she’d spent months allowing Amelia to tenderly inspect them and even close one back up one time after it split open during a round in the ring with Two. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t mind the doctor’s touch as much as she said she did.

“Whaddyawan?” Fin yawned, her arm unconsciously flexing around Amelia’s still-sleeping frame.

“Oh, I was just going to invite the team out for breakfast, but it seems you two gal pals are a bit… busy.” He winked, “Hey, Doc. What did I say about fucking?”

“We weren’t fucking,” Amelia mumbled, still half asleep as she rolled over to squint at One, “What do you want?”

“Breakfast. Team. Fifteen minutes. Pants required.” He repeated, before shutting the door. He moved a little faster than Amelia could raise her middle finger at him to flip him off.

Amelia, now more awake, moved away from Finley. “Sorry, must have rolled over in the middle of the night,” She apologized, flipping back the covers.

So she was straight. So what? Fin tried to quell the tiny pang in her chest. She knew when she became Eight that there would be no more dating. No more falling in love. Besides, it’s not like she hadn’t clued Fin in last night, talking about Billy.

As she stretched and struggled out of the covers, Finley reached for her jeans, still lying on the couch where she’d dropped them after her shower last night. She tugged them on, one leg at a time, before doffing her oversized tee shirt and pulling a fresh one out of the plastic storage bin that served as her dresser. She didn’t even bother to try and find a sports bra to pull on. Actually, Fin was pretty sure she needed to rinse them all out, anyways.

Amelia emerged from behind the curtain that blocked off the now-defunct bathroom, fully dressed. “Fucking One. Doesn’t he knock?” She sighed in exasperation.

Fin mumbled something sympathetic around the mouthful of bobby pins she held in between her lips as she tried to tame her hack-job of a haircut into something more respectable,

“I could use some coffee though, and the diner in town is better than the shit Blaine will brew. Ready?” She asked, her hand on the door handle. Finley nodded silently and pushed herself to her feet, ready to follow the doctor out into the bright Mojave morning.

* * *

The diner in town certainly wasn’t going to win any Michelin stars, especially considering the fact that surface in the place seemed to be coated in the same greasy, sticky sheen of age and neglect. Still, it was the  _ only _ diner in town, or at least the only mom and pop diner that wasn’t the Denny’s sitting just off the interstate.

And for that, the team went as often as One would allow. He was adamant about never becoming regulars anywhere, but he'd allow an occasional visit, just never at a time or day they'd been before. It made Finley wonder if they were ever recognized by people who lived in the nearby town. It seemed likely, she thought, but she wasn't going to fuss about it, either.

They squeezed into the largest booth that occupied the back corner of the diner, rowdy like a bunch of teenagers. One drew up a chair at the end of the table, opting not to join the crush on the cracked red vinyl seat. Fin found herself tucked in the space between Three and Five, elbows pinned to her sides as the large hitman to her left settled against the back of the booth, taking up his fair share of space and then some.

He was chatting animatedly to Seven, paying no attention to the blonde sandwiched against his side. Two sat across from Finley, silently regarding her standard-issue diner mug of coffee, black and steaming. Really, she was trying her hardest to ignore Four, who was loudly sharing some story of some heist or other he'd pulled in some other life with Five and One. Whether they were actually listening was another issue entirely. It was raucous and overwhelming, and for a brief moment, it felt a little bit like family.

"So," began Blaine, leaning forward on the chipped Formica table, rolling his coffee between his palms. Everyone turned their attention to him, seemingly knowing what was coming. "We haven't had the chat about our favorite parts of being dead, yet."

Finley understood that it was a bit of a tradition and perked up, wondering what the others thought.

One leaned back, tipping his chair onto two legs. "That's easy--no red tape. You want to change something? You change it. That's all."

"No immigration lines. No getting stopped at the border, no 'Papeles, por favor.'." Amelia chimed in. 

"No more criminal records," Added Four, "No pigs waiting to arrest you for being nak--"

"No more having to hear about Four's penchant for being naked," One interrupted, speaking over the Brit. 

"No more bills. No more family holidays," Seven added with a nod.

"No more doctors nagging you about what you eat!" Three declared with glee, stabbing a sausage with his fork and taking a bite. Beside Finley, Amelia huffed. Two remained stoically silent.

"What about you? What do you like about being dead?" Four pressed, his mouth full of toasted white bread, smothered in strawberry jelly.

Finley thought for a moment, stirring honey into her tea.

"No more medical bills," She said, finally, "Sure, try and bill me, motherfuckers. I'm dead!"

One grimaced, not sharing in her enthusiasm for credit-destroying medical debt. He'd paid for her directly and out of pocket, throwing down hundreds of thousands in cash for the tiny implant in her brain, steadily issuing electrical pulses to keep her tumor from developing any further. It's not like any insurance company would have fronted the cost, anyways.

She took a bite of the egg white omelet she'd ordered, filled with colorful vegetables that had been sauteed a little past healthy. At least she tried. She'd had better, but not recently, so she took another bite before reaching for the shaker of black pepper and the bottle of Tapatio on the table.

"How long have you been… y'know?" Four asked, his mouth full once again.

Finley's cheeks colored a little, but she took a sip of her sweetened tea to hide it. She knew it would come up sooner or later, but it seemed that the others had waited for the scars to fade, for her to seem more normal, since no one besides Amelia had touched upon the subject.

"Um… about a year and a half. They found it around two Christmases ago," She answered in a quiet voice. 

"Cancer or…?" Two's voice trailed off, but not before lilting up to mark her question. Finley realized they'd been kept in the dark about her condition, too. One probably wanted it that way--didn't want the rest of the team to doubt her ability based on her health.

"Yeah, cancer. It's… under control now, at least. Not gone, but as fixed as they can manage."

She didn't know why she's volunteered the last part, it wasn't like her to share any more than she ever had to about her brain. Maybe she just didn't want them to doubt her, either. Maybe she just didn't want to doubt herself.

"That's rough," Blaine said, finally breaking the taut silence that stretched across the table.

Fin nodded, a chuckle bubbling up her throat and across her tongue.

"Yeah, it's rough. But well… now I'm dead. What do I have to worry about? Besides dying for real."

"Hopefully not," One mused, "I'd hate to have to find a Nine already."

Back on base, Finley paused by her trailer long enough to change into a pair of soft, well worn yoga pants before heading out the door. She scooped up her headphones as an afterthought before she swung the door closed behind her. Fin plodded down the well-worn dirt path to the hangar, stretching her shoulders as she walked. 

It was past time to get back on the wall, especially since she's been neglecting her climbing time to train with Two and Three to catch up her skills in other areas. One hadn’t quite explained what she’d be doing yet, but neglecting what she was good at was sure to be a mistake. And until she knew, she needed to be on her game.

Her climbing shoes had been abandoned in the gym, stuffed in one of the cubbies near the back of the room. Finley hopped on one foot, then the other as she pulled them on, tightening down the velcro straps and feeling the familiar crush of the tight shoes. Next, she pulled her turquoise-colored harness from the cubby, giving it a shake to untangle it before stepping into it and tightening it down. The last thing she pulled out was her belay device, attached to a locking carabiner. She gave it a little toss, catching it as she headed for the wall.

Once she reached the wall, she selected a rope and set herself up, carefully checking her knots and carabiners, making sure it was ready to catch her. She dipped her hands into the chalk bag at her waist, powdering her fingers as she readied herself to ascend.

As she climbed, she reached down to pull the tail end of her rope through the belay device at her waist, making sure it closed completely on the rope before removing her hand to climb further. 

“You know, that’s usually safer when you have someone else to hold the rope.”

Finley looked down between her feet to find Four standing at the bottom of the wall, looking up at her. He leaned casually against the wall as their eyes met.

“Just saying, I can probably help.”

Fin regarded him for another moment, before reaching for her belay device to release it and lower herself back to the floor.

“Grab a harness,” She ordered, unclipping her belay device from her harness, “Might as well make yourself useful.”

* * *

Amelia leaned against the open hangar door, watching the two blonds laugh and chat as they climbed, taking turns and showing each other new moves. They were finally beginning to get along, which should have made her happy.

Then why couldn’t she shake the feeling twisting unpleasantly in her gut at the sight of them enjoying each other’s company?


	6. Step by Step

Finley perched on the top of the wall, her feet dangling over the edge as the rough surface bit into her butt and palms. She’d tied off a short line to a clip near the top of the wall, so she wouldn’t splatter on the floor below if she slipped. It was a dizzying drop, hundreds of feet down, but it exhilarated her.

A few feet to her right, Billy climbed the last few holds and heaved himself up beside her, securing his harness to the wall the way she had. He panted softly from the exertion of climbing so far--the last little haul to get up on top of the wall was more of a killer than he wanted to admit. At least he felt free up here.

This far up, nothing could get them.

Well, maybe Two, but she’d probably just shoot them rather than climb up there. Billy’s feet thumped a rhythm against the wall as he swung them idly, leaning forward just far enough that he felt he might pitch headlong into the abyss if he leaned a fraction of an inch further. He glanced over at Finley and thought for a brief moment that she was asleep--her eyes closed and chest rising rhythmically under her sweat-stained tee shirt.

She shifted, breaking the spell. Her brown eyes slid open, meeting his, bold and challenging.

“Penny for your thoughts?” She mused, raising one sun-blonded brow.

Her words took him off guard--nearly no one was actually interested in what was going through his head at any one time. Most the time, they were actively working to shut him up. Even Blaine, who tolerated his ramblings the best still had to shut him up every once in a while.

“Oh, um…” He stammered as he struggled to organize the cacophony that was his brain into something he could share without yammering on endlessly, “You like it here, yeah? I mean, the team’s been pretty good to you, no?”

She fixed him with a look that let him know small talk wasn’t what she’d meant, but she answered his questions easily.

“I miss the freedom of going where I wanted, when I wanted. I don’t really miss the chemo or anything, though, so yeah… I like it here. And I like the team. Amelia’s a great roommate, Blaine’s pretty good company… hell, I feel like even One may kinda care. Just a little bit.”

“Yeah,” Billy murmured, clearly lost in his own thoughts. “Amelia, she’s somethin’, in’she?”

Finley huffed out a laugh, low and sweet in her throat. As much as One warned them against attachments, they were bound to happen. And the young doctor really was something.

“Yeah, she is.” A thought crossed Finley’s mind, coy and delicious. Too good to pass up, even if it meant giving up something that wasn’t yet. Might not ever be. “You uh, ever talk to her much? Like, chat?”

A plan was forming, and she couldn’t tell if her stomach was twisting with the wicked joy of nudging things until they lined up, or the bitterness of wanting something for herself. But she’d already set the gears in motion, and she was going to see it through. After all, Amelia had been a much-needed friend at a time when she had none, and friends deserve to be treated well.

Billy pondered her question, chewing his full lower lip until it flushed pink with irritation. “I mean, a bit. But we don’t get much time to, ‘nd she always seems so busy, with all her doctorin’ and such.”

“Maybe you oughta,” She suggested, her tone casual. Not at all plotting anything, just acquaintances chatting. Coworkers, sharing a quick break. Nothing to see here, folks, move along. “She’s got some great stories about med school. Not good if you’re squeamish, but if you’re not…”

She shrugged, reaching between her legs to unclip from the wall and set up for her descent. “Just sayin’. Anyways, I’m off. Promised Blaine I’d help look over maps and plan the exit route. A month to go, so I guess we’re getting down to the wire.”

Gracefully, she slipped off the ledge and onto the wall, habitually checking her ropes before she readied herself to lower.

“See ya around!” She chirped, flashing him a smile and releasing the lever on her belay device. 

The rope slipping through her palm warmed it, her calluses long past the point where it should have stung. She loved the ride down from the top of the wall--not quite a free fall, but still enough to make her breath hitch if she looked down. As she landed lightly on the floor, her nimble fingers loosed the knot and set her free of the rope. With a last wave, she headed off to shed her gear and meet up with the sniper to discuss plans.

* * *

“Look, all I’m saying is that is a very steep cliff, and we have seven people we have to extract,” Blain argued, leaning forward to look at the spot on the topography map where Finley was tapping with her finger.

“And what I’m saying is that this is where I’m the expert. Look at the photographs. It’s not even vertical--maybe seventy-five, eighty degrees. We rig up top ropes, and winch them up. No one is actually climbing except me. Hell, we do two setups, send people up two at a time, all you have to do is get the last person off the ground with a belay from above. That’s well within possibility,” She argued. As she did, she shuffled through a stack of aerial pictures of the area, looking for the one she wanted.

“Yeah, but we have miles to hike and climb to get to where the chopper is meeting us. We can’t be tiring people out.” Blaine’s tone was quiet, even in his frustration. None of the team members working nearby even looked up at their debate.

“The way you want to go is five extra miles of hard hiking. We can cut those out with a little bit of climbing.”

“These people aren’t climbers.”

“No, but I am. Didn’t One tell you I used to be a mountain guide? Hauling non-climbers up rock faces is something I do.”   


“And what are we going to do when you’re exhausted from winching six other people up a wall?”

Finley growled under her breath in frustration, scraping her wavy, curly mop of hair up into a ponytail, and did her best to ignore the downy soft fluff that she couldn’t pull back. “I’ll split it with Billy. We each belay half the team, I belay him, then he top belays me.”

“Okay, but then what about here? There’s no way around a climb here. Shouldn’t we save our strength for when it’s absolutely necessary?”

“Dude, people with  _ guns _ will be coming after us and you want to take the scenic route? Can you just trust me when I say it’s within my abilities.”

“If we do this, we’re going to train for it,” Blaine countered. He didn’t doubt her stamina and skill, but he might have doubted her strength a bit. After all, she was a wiry little thing. 

“Okay. How many times do you want me to haul your ass up a wall to prove we can do this?”

“It’s not me you gotta worry about. One’s a princess.”

“I heard that,” One interjected, looking up from his work station. Reading glasses were perched on his nose. “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of climbing, thanks.”

“Sure, sure,” Finley waved him off, still looking at the map. “I know you’re not thrilled with the plan, but I really think this is our best route.”

Blaine was quiet for a moment, eyes tracing the arrows she’d drawn on the map to mark their path. 

“You gonna have time to get this all set up?” He asked, finally.

“Figure I’ll leave the night before, do all my set up overnight and camp at the first checkpoint and wait for you, since One doesn’t want me on the job itself,” Fin explained, tapping the spot where she’d be waiting. “Should give me a few hours to catch some shut-eye and rest before making the climbs again.”

“And if someone unfriendly finds you camped out?” Blaine queried, still not sold on the idea.

“I’m an Australian backpacker who’s taking advantage of the crag.” She shrugged, affecting an Aussie accent.

“Think you can keep up the accent under stress?” Blaine pressed, amusement wrinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Mate, One may have found me in Colorado, but I spent the first decade of my life down under. I think I’ll manage.” Finley grumbled, still maintaining the accent. “Hopefully, though, I won’t need to, and we can put this lil’ episode behind us.”

“All right,” Seven held his hands up in surrender, “We’ll do it. Hey, One! We have our exfil plan. We’re gonna need some gear.”

From across the room, One scoffed, “What do I look like, an ATM?”

“No,” Blaine grinned, “You look like a rich asshole.”


End file.
